


To be Gentle

by MochaCorgi



Series: Show me how [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Faraday sucks at Feelings, Late Night Reflections, M/M, Sort Of Fluff, but he tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 06:35:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11892090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MochaCorgi/pseuds/MochaCorgi
Summary: After the battle is fought and the gang has recovered, Faraday struggles with what gentleness means.





	To be Gentle

**Author's Note:**

> After the battle is fought and the gang has recovered, Faraday struggles with what gentleness means.

Faraday was a mean son of a bitch. That was one of the few sentiments he wouldn't contest. He drank liquor like water, had no limits to what he was willing to gamble, became giddy at the sign of a fight, spent more time in the company of women of the night that with anyone else. At least he had been, until he met Chisolm.

Faraday had been without purpose, without direction. So when Sam gave him a chance to get Jack back and something to shoot at, Faraday jumped at the opportunity, without much background. Yet as pieces began to fall together it became clear that death was inevitable. Any sane man would have left, but Faraday never claimed to be sane, he was a born gambler through and through, he took the leap.

He won.

Blown to hell and shoot so many times one would think he decided to play dummy in target practice one day, but alive. Goodnight had called it a damn miracle, Vasquez had cursed at him in Mexican before relief shone through his stony features. The others had similar reactions when the doctor declared he would live. Faraday hadn't felt anything but exhaustion until it was just him and Vasquez left in the infirmary.

"Talk." Faraday closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, "I know ya got somethin' to say, so say it."

"You look like shit. You really wanna talk now?" Vasquez asked, darkly.

He opened his eyes and cut him a glare. "I wanna get this over with."

"Fine. I guess I'm just a little confused on just what the hell was going through your head when you thought it would be a smart idea to blow yourself up." His voice rose dangerously, anger rolling off him in waves.

A better man may have soothed Vasquez, gave him the reassurance he so obviously wanted. But Faraday was not a better man and he allowed the anger licking up his spine to consume him.

"You want an explanation? Well I want a fuckin' thank you!" He ignored the pain radiating from his side as he struggled to sit up.

"¡Ay Dios mio! Quiere un gracias por tratar a suicidarse. Tipicamente." He had pushed out of the chair set up at Faraday's bedside and began to pace.

"I don't know a damn word you just said." Faraday replied coolly, just to be an ass. The glare Vasquez shoot him cut.

"I'm not about to thank you for trying to kill yourself, moron."

"Vas," he started before sighing, scrubbing a hand over his face. Fatigue was taking over his body and fast. "I had to get rid of that damn Gatlin gun. We would have all died if I didn't." 

You would have died, a better man may have added. As previously established, Faraday was not a better man. He bite his tongues

"I know. It doesn't mean I have to like it." He sighed, shoulders sagging defeatedly as came to sit on the edge of Faraday's bed, "Next time we plan. As a group, not just let one take the heat. Next time trust us to handle it too."

"Next time? You planning on staying together?"

Vasquez shrugged, glancing at the door the others had left out of. "I have nowhere else to go. Neither does anybody else. It will be...nice to have a group watching my back will the rest of the world wants to stab it."

Faraday had winced. Vasquez’s bounty always hung heavy, lurking in the corner, though they all preferred to ignore it most times.

"You all will make a quaint little group. The magnificent six."

"Seven."

"Oh. Emma joining ya?"

"Quit playing dumb. It's not a good look, güero."

Faraday shivered at the nickname, blaming it on exhaustion than anything else. The idea of traveling with a group was a terrifying as it was thrilling. 

"You goin' kidnap me?"

"If we have to."

"You'd have to catch me first."

"Guero, you were just blow up and drugged on landrum, you won't be that hard to catch."

Faraday snorted. He leaned over to where his pack was resting on the bedside table. Fumbling around until he caught the familiar edge of his card deck. He palmed a card then withdrew his hand quickly.

He snapped his fingers flipping over the card, "I can use magic." 

Vasquez's laughter had filled up the entire room.

Faraday jolted out of his memory when a bitter wind blew through the open window, cheap curtains flapping about. Faraday pulled the blanket tighter around him from where he reclined on the bed. He glanced at the moon and let himself slip into another memory.  
***

"You come here often darlin'?"

Vasquez snorted, turning from where he had been leaning against the balcony railing of some saloon Faraday and Goodnight had insisted on stopping at. The moon was full and shone bright silver. Vasquez's curls moved with him.

"It isn't that long." The statement had been somewhat rendered useless as he threw said hair out of his eyes. He huffed. "Billy said he'd cut it soon."

"With one of his potstickers?" Faraday asked dubiously.

"Better than nothing."

Faraday whistled, coming to rest against the railing, a hairbreadth of space between them, "Brave man, I wouldn't let Billy anywhere near me with those."

That was a bold faced lie and the both knew it. Vasquez and Faraday trusted Billy with their lives, as he did them, as they all did for each. Their little arrangement, taking seven deadly, caustic people and throwing them together, depending solely on trust. Uncompromising and unrelenting.

Faraday had, in the end, joined the team, no kidnapping necessary. He figured Vasquez was right, while he may not have a bounty hanging over him he had no shortage of enemies himself, it would be nice to get to stop looking over his shoulder, to know somebody would be pressed there, already shooting. It hadn't been easy and there were times that he wanted to strangle Goodnight, but wouldn't out of grudging respect and not wanting Billy to turn him into a fucking push pin, and times when wanted to hurl the Bible at Jack's face, come to think of it he would probably like that, or felt the need to stomp his feet at Chisolm, like a child, but somehow most things fell into place. Almost scarily, Faraday had grown content to travel with them. Still he tried to hold himself a bit apart, wanting to be prepared when it ended, when Faraday screwed up so much that they wouldn't have him, or their own differences became too loud and tore them apart, but til then Faraday saw no harm in riding it out.

"Why are you out here anyway? I thought you and Goody would be drunkenly singing war songs or having a pissing contest."

Faraday feigned offensive, throwing a hand to his chest, "Now, you listen here! I would never...", trailing of when Vasquez shot him a smug knowing look.

"We had a pissing contest one goddamn time, Vas, and I was too drunk to remember it. Let it go." He said haughtily.

Vasquez scoffed, "Sure.", dragging put the word. He watched Faraday's face before shrugging, "He won anyway."

"That is a damn lie and you know it! I won fair and-"

Vasquez laughter rang out into the night, slithering its way into Faraday's chest and create a weird and warm sensation. "So you do remember."

The smugness from Vasquez was palpable. He grumbled angrily, "Shut your mouth, señorita." 

Stifling his laughter, he asked, "Honestly guero, why are out here?"

He shrugged, turning his head over his shoulder to look out into the night, "Billy cut Goody off and dragged him away awhile ago. Chisolm had left before that, Red and Jack never bothered to leave the trees surrounding the town, not much else to do."

Vasquez stiffened and turned his front against the railing grumbling something unintelligible.

"Hmm?"

Taking a deep breath and looking away from him, he answered, "I said what about the woman?"

"The woman?" Faraday asked, drawing up short, before recounting the night's events. Nothing had been out of the ordinary, Faraday and Goody were steadily drinking themselves stupid, Vasquez and Chisolm going at a slower pace with Billy not drinking at all. They had been alternating between trading stories and playing cards. Faraday had been loud and making a fool of himself, to get the table to laugh, not just Vasquez, or that's what he told himself despite his eyes always drifting back to him. 

Then it clicked.

A woman had wandered over, about around the time Chisolm had turned in. Goody had offered her a chair and she had pressed up against Faraday. She was one of the prostitutes that frequented the saloon. She was good at luring her clients in too, whispering in Faraday's ear, massaging his shoulders, running her hand through his hair. Vasquez had left after a while, heading upstairs to the balcony, Faraday had watched him go. Faraday felt a ugly pit form in his stomach. "Oh. That woman."

"Sí. That women." 

Faraday forced a laugh, "You're jealous." 

Vasquez skin tinted pink all over and he was steadfastly staring ahead.

Tamping down on the nauseating feeling inside, he said, "Well she still in there. If you want...if you wanna get with her."

Faraday certainly didn't think she would be opposed. After Vasquez had left the table that night, she had soon lost interest in Faraday and all but landed in Goodnight's lap, turning her attention towards him. Which hadn't lasted longer, not due to polite attempts to rebuke her but more likely due to the fact that Billy had decided to sharpen his knives while looking straight at her. She quickly fled to another table while Goodnight lectured Billy on manners and appropriateness.

"Pinche estupido." Vasquez shook his head in disbelief. Fire burned within Faraday.

"You know damn well I don't understand Mexican-" Faraday began angrily.

"Spanish, cabrón" Vasquez injected, defiantly. 

"-so if you wanna fight, fight in a language I can understand." He hissed, ignoring Vasquez's previous interruption.

"I'm not 'jealous' of you, idiot." His tone battled seething anger and condescension. The fire burned.

"Then what the hell's your problem? If you ain't jealous of me than what? What are you jealous of her?" Faraday shouted, throwing sense out the window.

He stiffened, pink flooded his tan skin, eyes sifting, avoiding Faraday's. He looked like he would love to jump off the balcony.

Huh.

He watched him for a moment, giddy nerves building up. He felt like he was at the tables again, a gambler debating his next move.

He went all in.

Grabbing at Vasquez's vest, he hauled him forward crashing their lips together. Faraday kissed like he was in a fight, risky and rough. Vasquez growled and bit at his lower lip before sucking it lightly. Faraday melted.

From then on women at saloons were always turned down. They fell together, something that began on a whim, became a permanent fixture. It happened against Faraday's will. Somehow the months molded together, and within them Faraday stopped seeking Vasquez out only to blow off steam or to pass the time. He started longing for the nights, when he could sleep curled next to Vasquez's warmth or looking for new ways to bring out a laugh out of him or the ways those laughs seemed to worm their way into his chest and heat it.  
***

Faraday shifted out of the covers and made his way to the window. Closing it shut, he turns and stares at the bed. Vasquez was laid out on his stomach, face turned away from Faraday, hair shining in the moonlight. His back was bare, the covers barely covering his torso.

He slipped back into the bed, situating himself so he was leaning against the wall behind the head of the bed. He tilted his head toward Vasquez and watched the steady rise and fall of his back. He reached out and ran his fingers across the tanned skin, now bathed in moonlight. 

Faraday was a mean cuss, no doubt about it. He still drank, not as much as before but still enough that it was a mystery his liver worked, he didn't enjoy the company of prostitutes, didn't need to anymore, had Vas for everything, he still gambled, not just at the tables but in all things. He didn't exactly have a purpose, though Jack like to say God had choose them to service people. The only thing that had truly changed was his direction, he wasn't aimless. His path was with the group, in whatever crazy job they took, with Vasquez. 

Faraday wasn't a gentle man. He never wanted to be, never needed to be. After his Ma died he was on his own, he didn't need to be gentle. He needed to be capable. Gentleness meant hesitating to shoot or playing a game fair. Neither of which could fly if Faraday had wanted to survive. So all the softness had fled his body. Not that he had ever minded before. Until Vasquez.  
***

They had been traveling together a little over a year now. They had stopped somewhere in Kansas, setting up camp and pitching a fire. They had all gathered, unlike when they went to saloons, Jack and Red Harvest joined in the drunken banter and storytelling albeit sober.

Goodnight was in the middle of telling one or the other of his and Billy's exploits. Faraday about damn near rolled over laughing at Goody's obviously exaggerated story. The rest of the group had similar reactions, even Red Harvest cracking a smile, small but genuine. He had felt Vasquez shaking against him, chuckling along and moved imperceptibly closer.

Eventually the story telling had ended and everyone began to turn in. Jack and Red Harvest drifted away. Though they had gotten better at living with people, at night it seemed they preferred their distance. Off to his left Faraday saw Chisolm settling down and drift off quickly. Turning away, Faraday gazed across the fire where Billy and Goodnight were setting up for the night.

Billy had shuffled to the side to gather up their bedding. In this day and age, arrangements like Billy and Goodnight's, like Faraday and Vasquez's, could land a man dangling from a rope, feet hopelessly off the ground. They were all aware of this. Some days he felt all too aware of it. He wasn't scared, hell with his lifestyle it would only be yet another bullet point on a very long list of reasons he'd be possibly put in the ground. But while he wasn't scared for his own life, he was damn terrified for Vasquez's, had nearly stopped him from pursuing whatever the hell it was going on between them. Faraday was a born gambler, he threw himself in danger because he knew he could cheat the odds, manipulate the game, draw luck toward his favor, because he had before. Vasquez had gambled and ended with a draw, alive and enemy defeated but forced into a life of running and ducking. But Faraday was nothing if not a selfish bastard and he did pursue, albeit cautiously. Caution, that was the excuse Faraday gave to not be soft, Vasquez didn't need attention drawn towards him. He didn't need another man brushing his fingers against the small of his back or combing his fingers through his inky curls. And the excuse worked when they actually interacted with civilization, because it was true, that type of behavior would have drawn attention, unneeded and unkind attention. But with the group, when it was just them, the excuse fell apart. It crumbled to shambles when Billy brushed his fingers against Goodnight's jaw or when Goodnight pressed a chaste kiss to his temple.

When Goodnight and Billy curled up into each as they settled down for the night, unlike Faraday and Vasquez who slept side by side, only backs or shoulders in contact, like they were tonight and the rest of the company didn't raise an irate brow, hell they didn't even bat an eye, not even the God-fearing Jack Horne. He hated moments like these. Moments where he was left to examining why he couldn't make his hands move against Vasquez’s skin as Billy’s made his trail across Goody's skin. The most scary thing was in that moment, Faraday realized he wanted to be that way, to be gentle with Vasquez.  
***

The memory fades away as Faraday's fingers trail lower. His mind drifted to his pitiful attempts at gentleness that had followed. He couldn't force his lips to stop bruising. The force behind them kept him protected, because in his life gentleness had only meant vulnerability. It seemed like he could never push down the impending sensation of danger that began when he touched Vasquez with anything less than roughness.

Faraday was a mean son of a bitch. He had a temper that resembled a stick of dynamite. It hovered over a light match, all to happy to tilt downwards. And just like a stick of dynamite, once lit, there was nothing that could be done to stop the destruction that was sure to follow.  
Faraday would, had many times, kill men simply out of anger. It was anger, anger at the unfairness of it all, that drove him to drastic measures. It was anger that drove him in most things, so somewhere along the line he’d let it consume him completely. 

Nowadays Vasquez seemed like the only thing that could soothe it. Faraday's hands became a little rough. His words became hissed, cut as sharp as one of Billy's knifes. He has hard and unforgiving in those moments. 

Vasquez bared it all. 

And at the end of the explosion, he still had it in him to brush a feather light kiss against Faraday sweaty temple, letting his fingers linger on his arm before moving away.

And in that aspect, Faraday knew Vasquez would always be the stronger man.

Faraday removed his fingers from Vasquez's back and moved them up into his hair, combing his fingers through his curls. Vasquez stirred, sifting closer but ultimately stayed asleep. Faraday moved over until he was hovering over him, propped by his elbow. He ducked down and began to leave a trail of kisses on his neck, then to his nape, then spine. He felt a bubble of annoyance build up in him when his ministrations only earned a soft sigh. Apparently gentleness required patience and that simply wouldn't do.

Faraday smacked him loudly across his back with his pillow before moving back as not to get shot, knowing what the consequences could be for waking the outlaw in such a manner.

Vasquez, the dependent asshole, didn't fail to deliver. His gun that had been resting on the bedside table was cocked and at the ready. Vasquez's dark eyes scanned the room quickly before landing on Faraday's smirking face. He groaned and set the gun back down before flopping back on the bed.

"¿Que paso, guero? The hell's s'matter with you?" Vasquez demanded, anger tainted by the drowsiness laced in his voice. He had flopped onto his back and now had an arm thrown over his eyes.

Faraday shrugged, unrepentant. "You were irking me."

Vasquez's head snapped toward him so quick Faraday thought it was a miracle it didn't break off. He looked at Faraday as though he was a mad man. Maybe he was. "I was asleep."

"Exactly. I wanted you up."

"Pinche cabrón." Vasquez murmured darkly, flopping down dramatically. It was quite a display, Faraday thought amusedly.

"Hey darlin'. Vas. Vasquez. Vas." The last word was drawn out, the s's becoming a hiss. 

"What."

"C'mere."

Vasquez turned toward him harshly, anger rolling off him in waves. He sputtered, distantly reminding Faraday of a fish, looking torn between being incredulous and pissed. 

"En serio. You wake me up at God knows time and tell me to move-" He starts furiously, while Faraday feels his limited supply of patience run dry.

"Will you shut your damn mouth and get the hell over here so I can hold you?” Faraday snaps. His feels his face flush as anger and embarrassment battle within him. When he looked at Vasquez he felt the emotions heightened.

He was staring and him wide eyed, mouth in a perfect o shape. He was staring with something akin to awe. Faraday was about to call the whole thing off and move as far as the bed would allow to sulk but Vasquez started moving. His movements were slow and after a few moments Faraday realized it was for his benefit, not Vasquez. Vasquez's movement mirrored those of one who was trying to approach a newly calmed, volatile horse, much like how people handled Jack. Faraday almost snorted.

When there was only an inch of space between the Faraday and Vasquez, he stopped, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. Faraday huffed, throwing an arm around his waist and pulling him in so his head rest over Faraday's shoulder, tucked under his chin. Vasquez responded immediately, wrapping his arm around Faraday's torso. 

Vasquez melted into him, reminding Faraday of a cat finding a sunny patch to lay. He felt Vasquez's pleased grin against the skin of his neck. All tension seemed to have left his body that had been there minutes previous. Faraday rolled his eyes. "Shut up and go to sleep. This ain't an hour for anyone to be up."

Vasquez's laugh played across his skin and he tried to repress a shiver. He failed.

After a couple of minutes, Vasquez's deep, steady breaths served to tell him the outlaw had fallen back asleep. His hand rests on Vasquez's waist began to draw small circles, while his other moved from its spot on his back to tangle his his hair.

So perhaps Faraday was a mean son of bitch who drank too much, gambled too hard, had and explosive temper, and wasn't anyone's definition of soft. While his patience was a centimeter in others mile, he tried. And on nights like these, with Vasquez's pressed close against, where that closeness brought a strange warm stirring below his breastbone, he thought they would be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
